The lieutenant had rolled his eyes sadly. 'It is a terrible place, Captain. Not fit for beasts.'
Bolitho had persisted, 'What about fresh water? Have they good supplies?
`Alas, no. They depend on a rainfall to fill a manmade reservoir. Apart, from that they bring it by sea.' He had dropped his eyes with sudden embarrassment. 'From the port of St. Clar, but of course that was when we were allied with France, you understand.'
Moresby had interrupted angrily, 'If you are thinking of cutting off the water supply, Bolitho, you can think again. We have no time for a blockade, and in any case we don't know what supplies they have at their disposal.'
Anduaga had watched them with obvious irritation. 'But why are you all so concerned? He. had a smooth, silky voice which matched his air of complete superiority over the rest of them. 'My eighty-gun Marte will pound them to fragments! But I can assure you that there will be no problems.' His eyes had become suddenly cruel. 'The Spanish garrison would have me to reckon with if they were foolish enough to surrender to a lot of peasant soldiers!'
A voice broke into Bolitho's brooding thoughts. 'Land! Land on the weather bow!'
He moved restlessly. 'Alter course a point to starboard, Mr. Gossett.' Then to Quarme he added, 'Clear for action, if you please, but do not have the guns loaded or run out.'
Again the pipes shrilled, and as the darkened decks filled and surged with running figures Quarme asked quietly, 'Will you tell the admiral, sir?'
Bolitho listened to the thuds and bangs below decks as the screens were hastily torn down and anything which might hamper the gunners was dragged below the waterline.
'I fancy Sir William will know already, Mr. Quarme, he replied dryly.
He had hardly finished speaking when a midshipman burst from the poop and gasped, 'The admiral's respects, and, and
He faltered, aware that the men around him were all listening.
Bolitho said abruptly, 'Well, what exactly did he say, boy?' The wretched midshipman stammered, 'He asked what the hell do you think you're playing at?'
Bolitho kept his voice even. 'My compliments to Sir William. Be so good as to inform him that we have just cleared, for action.' He looked across at Quarme and added coldly, 'But I see that it still took over ten minutes!'
He saw Quarme's tall frame stiffen, but continued, 'Give me my glass.' Then while the others stared after him he pulled himself on to the mizzen shrouds and began to climb. The coarse ratlines felt damp and unsteady beneath his shoes, and he found he was gripping them tighter than necessary as he made his way slowly aloft to the mizzen top. He hated heights, and had done so since he had first gone aloft as a twelve-year-old midshipman. He knew it was anger as well as pride which made him do this sort of thing, and the realisation made him even more irritated.
He threw his leg over the wooden barricade and opened his glass. As he glanced down at the pale deck far below he realised he could already pick out details more clearly. The black breeches of the guns below the gangways, Captain Ashby's square of marines formed up abaft the foremast, their scarlet uniforms appearing black in the strange light, and even aft by the taffrail he could see the faint glow of a lantern from the cabin skylight. Sir William was now fully awake. He would grumble and mutter about not being kept informed, but Bolitho knew already that Moresby would be much quicker to accuse him of negligence if he overlooked anything.
Bolitho forgot all of them as he trained his glass over the barricade, his feet taking and allowing for the ship's gentle roll and the steady shiver of the mast itself.
There it was right enough. They were approaching the island from the south-east, close-hauled on the larboard tack, so that the three hills overlapped against the dull-coloured sky to make what looked for all the world like a giant, battered cocked hat.
There was a clang of metal from the maindeck followed by a snarl of anger from an invisible petty officer. Bolitho closed his glass and climbed swiftly back to the quarterdeck. In his haste he even forgot his fear of heights.
'Keep those hands quiet, Mr. Quarme! We are less than three miles offshore. If they are still asleep over there I would like them to remain so!'
'They were my sentiments, Bolitho.'
He turned and saw Moresby's figure framed against the poop like a pale ghost. Then he realised that the admiral had thrown a coat over his white nightshirt, and on.his head he still wore a red sleeping cap like a candle-snuffer.
Bolitho kept his tone formal. 'I must beg your pardon, sir. But it seemed wiser to be prepared.'
The admiral glared at him. 'So you say!'
Gimlett appeared hovering nervously behind the admiral with a tray and two glasses. For Moresby this was a morning ritual. One glass contained a raw egg. The other was half filled with brandy.
Bolitho looked away, sickened, as the admiral gulped down his strange mixture.
Moresby smacked his lips and said dourly, 'Sky's brightening at last.' He swung round so that the tassel of his cap bounced in the breeze like a pendant. 'Where are those damn Dons?'
'It'll take 'em hours to catch up, sir.' Bolitho tried to hide his eagerness. 'Perhaps we should close the shore still further? The bottom shelves very steeply hereabouts to over eighty fathoms.'
The admiral grunted. 'It seems quiet enough. Maybe Don Anduaga was right, after all.' He scowled. 'I hope he is!'
Bolitho persisted, 'I have detailed a full landing party, sir. Ninety marines and one hundred picked seamen. We could drop the boats within a cable of the entrance before the garrison knew what was happening.'
Moresby sighed. 'Hold your horses, damn you! I dislike this business as much as you do, but Lord Hood's orders were explicit. We let the Dons go in first.' He walked back to" the poop. 'Anyway, you'd look a damn fool if the Spaniards arrived a day late and there was trouble. You heard what that lieutenant said about the defences. They'd massacre your men before they got out of the boats!'
Bolitho dropped his voice. 'But not this early, sir. Surprise is the thing. As soon as the fortress garrison has seen us we'll never get another chance.'
'I'm going to get dressed.' Moresby sounded dangerously calm. 'My. God, you frigate captains are all the same. No sense of responsibility or riskl' He stalked away with Gimlett trotting in his wake.
Bolitho walked twice up and down the quarterdeck to settle his mind. Moresby was old for his rank and was probably over-cautious.
Gossett intoned, ' Island 's abeam, sir.' He was squinting at the tightly braced yards.
Bolitho nodded. He had allowed his taut nerves to distract him. He had not really expected Moresby to fly in the face of Hood's orders, but he had still hoped. He said wearily, 'Very well. Wear ship and lay her on the opposite tack, Mr. Gossett.'
The Hyperion nudged steeply into the offshore swell and swung dutifully across the wind, her sails drawing immediately as the cool breeze sent a gentle ripple across the water alongside.
'Lay her on the starboard tack, Mr. Gossett.' Bolitho pictured the chart in his mind. `There is a long ridge of rock jutting out from the eastern end of the harbour entrance. There may be a sentry there.'
He thought of the men by the guns, of his officers waiting and wondering throughout the ship. They would be smiling now, he thought bitterly. Thinking that their new captain was more nervous than vigilant. All the drills and preparations would be wasted if his inbuilt caution had proved him wrong.
He looked up at the masthead pendant and saw that it was touched with pale gold like spun silk. And when he peered across the bows he realised that the horizon had appeared, a dark line between sky and sea. How quickly the dawn came up here, he thought. The realisation only depressed him further. With it would come the blazing heat, the air of motionless and helpless inactivity while the ship wallowed above her mirrored twin barely making headway.